“Thank you, ma’am. You almost sound as if you believe me.”
I found the blur that had to be the house and ran. Impulsive, not cultured, I fled.Slap,slapwent my slippers through the grass. When I slammed on my glasses, the house was ten or twelve paces.
Ester caught up to me. “Ruth. Ruth, please stop.”
Clasping the doorframe, I took a deep breath. “Go back to your friends. You respect them.”
Plunging deeper into the house, I went to Papa’s study. Collapsing into his chair, I flopped my head on the desk blotter.
I stayed there, like that, until a handkerchief mopped at my face.
It smelled of wild bay leaves. That was Bay Rum cologne.
Sitting upright, I took the cloth and dabbed at my tears.
“A farthing for your thoughts.”
The gruff voice sent tingles to my skin. I should be afraid to be secluded in my father’s tiny office with a stranger, but somehow the baron didn’t seem that strange. Not today.
I took a good look at him. Lord Wycliff was tall, tall like Adam. Well-built with low, dark-brown, almost black hair. And a beard. No, he wasn’t like Adam at all.
Under his right eye, the space of exposed skin not covered in manicured fur were bruises, big black marks that made his eyes seem blacker.
They weren’t alike. Adam wasn’t stupid enough to be hit.
I sighed and wiped my face. “My thoughts cost more than that. Struggling for funds?”
He sat on the desk beside me. His low chuckle vibrated upon my neck. “Why are you in the house and not enjoying your party? My absence driving you to tears?”
He was very close, too close, but comfort exuded in the shadow he cast. I remembered that I didn’t have to convince him of anything. He’d believed in Adam and me, even before I’d showed my half of the registry. “Tears of joy, perhaps?”
The baron put a hand on my shoulder. “You, Ruth Wilky, are certainly worth more than a farthing. I always start negotiations on the cheap, then escalate. My father taught me finances.”
Hadn’t Adam said things like that? I stiffened and moved out of the chair. “You’re late.”
His hands dropped to the desk. “But I haven’t been crying. Who wants to explain first?”
I sniffled. “Why do you care?”
“Do you expect me not to? Am I not to wonder why a beautiful woman has no joy at her party?”
“It’s my party. Can’t I cry if I want? Don’t I get to choose?”
“Mrs. Wilky, you’re on the brink of a nasty sob. Do you miss me that much?”
“Stop making fun because I have emotions.”
“Never. Your feelings, your tears, all are an expression of your passion.” His voice was softer, if a guttural baritone could be soft.
“Then I am the most passionate woman you’ve ever met.”
“I hope so. Adam would say, except for his mother, you’re the strongest woman he knew. She expressed her feelings in poems.”
My chest rattled. Tears threatened again, because I knew how Adam loved his mother and her lovely poems, herdeathpoems. “You don’t even know me, and you believe everything Adam said about me.”
Lord Wycliff came near. “Adam and I were of one mind. He had great taste in women.”
I was cornered, with bookcases at my back and a baron with bear fur coming closer. My spirit was not to be caged, not by him or any. I was inside the house. I was strong. I pointed my finger at him. “You are too forward. You flirt too much. Stop. I said no. Back away.”
